Wednesday, August 24, 2011

this is how we spend our mornings

The mic on my iPad isn't working so you'll have to provide your own sound track. I scanned down my legs, not for scandalous reasons, but to show that her tail is all tucked in. Lily is such a funny little ball of fat and fur. She insists on sitting in your lap and being pet. She follows you around the house and yells at you for not providing a lap to be pet in. She cries like a hound dog when Sweet P leaves the house.

In other news, based on many conversations like the one below, I am back on the no sugar, dairy or gluten diet. Albeit slowly. I haven't gone cold turkey yet since we still have the offending food stuffs in our kitchen and I loathe wasting food.


Eryn: I am sooooo with you in this boat. A few years back I saw an acupuncturist and it actually helped. That and he recommended an "allergy season diet" - which helped even more. No wheat, dairy or sugar from first symptoms till first frost. It makes me cry every time I see a pancake - but much less sneezing is worth it.

Emily: I've been thinking that. Ugh. It was an awful night last night. 2 benedryl didn't make a dent, slept sitting up, sneezed every 10 seconds until I passed out. I think I'd better seriously consider the allergy sea on diet. It's made a big difference, eh?

Eryn: Night and day. Went from practically mainlining Allegra 180 PLUS Singulair and still being sneezy and miserable for 3 months to only taking the singulair on particularly bad days.


In other, other news as a part of my campaign to remain artistically courageous I'm working through the Linklater book with a friend. He drew some particularly funny "how I see my voice now" and "how I want to see my voice" pictures while gently faux weeping. If nothing else it will be fun.

Sweet P and I continue to talk next steps and alternately experience the future as insurmountable and wide open. Luckily we're able to trade off being the ballast while the other flails. God bless my perfect partner.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

f'ing ragweed

This is one of those days where I wish I could turn my head inside out and give the itchy bits a good rinse.

On the other hand I got to see my in laws for a wonderful brunch and my daddy for his 63rd birthday.

It's a mixed bag day.

Monday, August 15, 2011

quilt on a stick for mn state fair

surely we sing of no little thing

The South Down's tree, originally uploaded by kaysare.

Heading over to the Third Monday Pub Sing at Merlin's Rest tonight and will attempt to sing A Tree Song. Blerg! It's long and I've never sung it! I'm excited. And scared. But the space in my heart reserved for reverence of nature has recently been awakened, so the song seems fitting.


Of all the trees that grow so fair,
Old England to adorn,
Greater are none beneath the Sun,
Than Oak, and Ash, and Thorn.
Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs,
(All of a Midsummer morn!)
Surely we sing no little thing,
In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Oak of the Clay lived many a day,
Or ever AEneas began.
Ash of the Loam was a lady at home,
When Brut was an outlaw man.
Thorn of the Down saw New Troy Town
(From which was London born);
Witness hereby the ancientry
Of Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Yew that is old in churchyard-mould,
He breedeth a mighty bow.
Alder for shoes do wise men choose,
And beech for cups also.
But when ye have killed, and your bowl is spilled,
And your shoes are clean outworn,
Back ye must speed for all that ye need,
To Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Ellum she hateth mankind, and waiteth
Till every gust be laid,
To drop a limb on the head of him
That anyway trusts her shade:
But whether a lad be sober or sad,
Or mellow with ale from the horn,
He will take no wrong when he lieth along
'Neath Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Oh, do not tell the Priest our plight,
Or he would call it a sin;
But - we have been out in the woods all night,
A-conjuring Summer in!
And we bring you news by word of mouth-
Good news for cattle and corn-
Now is the Sun come up from the South,
With Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs
(All of a Midsummer morn):
England shall bide ti11 Judgment Tide,
By Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Saturday, August 13, 2011

a touch of light on the green field in upper austria

Sweet P is out of town at his sister's wedding and the longing for him is just awful. It's been fun to stay out late with my "gentlemen callers", but 2 days of it has been more than enough. I want my husband to come home now.

I was called in to rehearsal yesterday and immediately sent away, then told to wait in the hall until they needed me after all. For some other worldly reason -- probably rooted in my longing -- I watched part of Hannah and Her Sisters while I waited. So beautiful. And Sweet P's favorite.


somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

e.e. cummings

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

he questioned softly why i failed, "for beauty", i replied. "and i for truth--the two are one, we brethren are," he said.

I got to be Maggie the Cat for about ten minutes today. It's a funny business, auditioning; so wonderful to delve into a character and throw yourself at the work, but so awful that it only lasts the length of your time slot. It's difficult to reconcile the disperate feelings of ownership and loss over something that was never really yours in the first place.

No callback yet.

Trying to rest me in the thought that I got to be Maggie the Cat one time for about ten minutes.

And there was free ice cream and new babies to coo over.

And sun.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

here inside my heart

This morning we skipped church in favor of more sleep and marriage upkeep. On the way to the bakery we saw our neighbor squatting down by a tree with his camera. He was busily photographing a cicada emerging from his shell. In the early stages yet, the cicada looked like a little green shrimp back-bending his way into adulthood. About a foot away the lovely creature above had fully emerged and was drying his lacy wings. My grandmother used to keep the shells and send them to us in film canisters, but I'd never seen the miracle I saw today.

The first day of rehearsal I had a beautiful chat with a couple of my fellows about religion. It's rare under most circumstances to have a beautiful chat about religion with anyone, let alone actors, but we chatted our hearts full. I talked a bit about how moved I get by the glory of nature and my new friend sent me this gorgeous poem.

I feel truly blessed today. By everything.


Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that a spring was breaking out in my heart.
Along which secret aqueduct, Oh water, are you coming to me,
water of a new life that I have never drunk?

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that I had a beehive, here, inside my heart.
And the golden bees were making white combs
and sweet honey from my old failures.

Last night as I was sleeping,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that a fiery sun was giving light inside my heart.
It was fiery because I felt warmth as from a hearth,
and sun because it gave light and brought tears to my eyes.

Last night as I slept,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that it was God I had here inside my heart.

Antonio Machado

Friday, August 5, 2011

idle hands

I have psoriasis. It's another of my darling autoimmune diseases that has no cure. This one manifests itself by producing skin cells faster than I can shed them, resulting in a scaly buildup on my scalp. If I pick at the scales, as I am want to do, they come away from my scalp with little tuffets of hair. Pretty, right?

I have a bit of a picking problem. You know what makes it worse? 8 hours a day of table work. Sitting still with idles hands feels excruciating to me. I pull scales off my head and come away with embarrassing strands of hair which I then hide in my pocket. I mean, really. What? Who am I becoming? I'm trying not to knit because I'm always afraid that folks will think I'm being rude. Truly, I'm not bored! It's just hard for me to have idle hands. But, if I want to keep my hair I think I'm going to have to give up the ghost and just knit.

The great news is that the psoriasis treatment involves sleeping in a shower cap. Sexy.